The girl was greatly impressed and easily moved, and at the fourth act, when Armand hurled the money at me, striking me in the face, she turned to her young man, saying savagely, “You, Dave, you got ter lay for dat white man ter night, an’ lick der life outen him.”

Next moment I had fallen at Armand’s feet.  The curtain was down and the girl was excitedly declaring, I was dead! while Dave assured her over and over again, “No, honey, she carn’t be dead yit, ‘cause, don’ yer see, der’s anudder act, an’ she just nacherly’s got ter be in it.”

When, however, the last act was on, it was Dave himself who did the business.  The pathetic death scene was almost over, when applause broke from the upper part of the house.  Instantly a mighty and unmistakable negro voice, said:  “Hush—­hush!  She’s climin’ der golden stair dis time, shure—­keep still!”

My devoted “Nannine” leaned over me to hide my laughing face from the audience, who quickly recovered from the interruption, while for once Camille, the heart-broken, died with a laugh in her throat.

In the same city I had, one matinee, to come down three steps on to the stage.  I was quite gorgeous in one of my best gowns; for one likes to dress for Southern girls, they are so candidly pleased with your pretty things.  My skirt caught on a nail at the very top step, so that when I reached the stage my train was stretched out full length, and in the effort a scene-hand made to free it, it turned over, so that the rose-pink lining could be plainly seen, when an awed voice exclaimed, “For de Lor’s sake, dat woman’s silk lin’d clear frou!” and the performance began in a gale of laughter.

CHAPTER VI

“ODETTE” IN THE WEST. A CHILD’S FIRST PLAY_

An odd and somewhat touching little incident occurred one evening when we were in the far Northwest.  There was a blizzard on just then, and the cold was something terrible.  I had a severe attack of throat trouble, and my doctor had been with me most of the day.  His little boy, hearing him speak of me, was seized with a desire to go to the theatre, and coaxed so well that his father promised to take him.

The play was “Odette.”  The doctor and his pretty little son sat in the end seats of the parquet circle, close to the stage and almost facing the whole house.  The little fellow watched his first play closely.  As the comedy bit went on, he smiled up at his father, saying audibly, “I like her—­don’t you, papa?”

Papa silenced him, while a few people who had overheard smiled over the child’s unconsciousness of observers.  But when I had changed my dress and crept into the darkened room in a robe de chambre; when the husband had discovered my wrong-doing and was driving me out of his house, a child’s cry of protest came from the audience.  At the same moment, the husband raised his hand to strike.  I repelled him with a gesture and went staggering off the stage; while that indignant little voice cried, “Papa! papa! can’t you have that man arrested?” and the curtain fell.